ENTER THE BIRDMAN 

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I have two very special sons. Each is unique. Jay, aka Jaybird, or The Bird, is also referred to as special because of his needs. He has multiple and severe disabilities, a result of being resuscitated after an event diagnosed as Sudden Infant Death. It happened when he was five weeks old. We've all had an interesting time growing up together. It has been crazy and wonderful and scary and fun and not so fun. I'm sure many families can say the same. My sons are the best thing that have ever happened to me, and I am insanely proud of them.

After 16 years at home, Jay moved to a comprehensive care facility in a university town. He requires a lot of specialized care because he's what you call a special edition. It was something I swore would never happen, but it did. Sometimes it is a good thing, or at least an appropriate thing. But your heart never stops wishing it could be different.

I tell you these things not because they are what necessarily defines Jay. But I might take a really awesome photo of him and want to share it. Not that I want to do much of that either, because Jay can't well articulate how we would feel about that and I believe that is important to recognize. But I might occasionally have to brag on him, and you would likely want to know why he is in a wheelchair, or has developed as he has. It would be beyond naive to assume otherwise.

Jay is well cared for and happy, and keeps everyone at his joint either laughing or pulling out their hair. Because he is also an ornery (love that word) special edition. This Sunday we sang a lot of songs, did some marching, some reading, recorded some goofy behavior to share with his brother, played race car with the wheelchair around the nearby park and lake, steered clear of what I can only call hooligan geese, and then he tired of me and kept yawning and telling me to "hush up." He was ready for a short nap before evening dinner and when I kissed and hugged him for the last and millionth time of the day, he said "good job."

And that's a pretty good day.

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Mornin'

Oh, what a beautiful morning. Sun, warmth, breeze, verdant countryside, coffee, and muddy, muddy dogs.

"Can we come on the deck? And sniff and lick at your coffee? And rub our muddy bottom half all over your bare legs? We've been in the recently tilled corn/bean field. You'll love it. Pleeeeaaaase?"

"You realize she is completely ignoring us," states Tilly.

"Whaaa? Mom? No ... she never does that to me. Wait .. where's she going?" says Ollie.

"Whatever. I've been down this road before. She's all weird about the coffee sniffing," says Tilly. "See ya, rookie boy."

Meanwhile Ollie attempts to shove himself further through the broken lattice on the deck gate. The one that keeps mysteriously shrinking. He cares not for this human magic, not one single bit.

Unfortunately he gets stuck, and must succumb to the torture of Trevor the Cat, who relishes these moments. Much staring and swatting ensues ...

As you may tell by his expression, he takes his job very seriously.

There is much whining and crying by Ollie. Trev smirks whilst playing "swat the ear" with the canine intruder. It ain't pretty. Due to their graphic nature, the photos will be withheld.

Ollie eventually squirms back out of the hole and trots off a sad, sad young man. Humans in attendance go inside their abode so as not witness his shame. (That and all the giggling has sent them to the bathroom.)

BUT ... by some miracle, Ollie manages to appear on the deck when the humans in residence return. They care not for this canine magic, not one single bit. Still they must admit they are moved by his perseverance, and sympathetic to his exhaustion. They are also placated by the fact the mud has turned to dust and is falling gently to the much-in-need-of-maintenance decking.

Hopefully when Ollie awakens he will be strengthened by his nap and haul that old hot water heater off as well. He is a budding DIY/crafter, so maybe he will come up with a very clever idea for repurposing it. Or maybe he will dig a big hole and bury it.

Enjoy this day peeps. It is glorious. :-)

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Dog Days

Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really.                        

~ Agnes Sligh Turnbull




Raleigh Girl  2000-2012

How do you say goodbye to a good friend? A best friend, a family member, a child? One you know you will never again see on this earth? Such a friend is one who has accepted you for all your faults, is understanding of your occasional (though not harmful) neglect, who greets you with eagerness and expectation, and extends love in a quiet and steady way.

Such is often the case with a dog. Holbrook Jackson said, "Man is a dog's idea of what God should be." That might be their second fault. How can we be deserving of such love and respect?

For us, saying goodbye to Raleigh was with tears and hugs, sobs and smiles, cooing, stroking, and strangled laughing through our crying at the retelling of stories. We held her, we held each other, and knew that to show our ultimate love we would need to stop her suffering.

Not that we weren't selfish. "Maybe if ...," and "She seems better!" were hopeful cries in our evening of recognition that Raleigh's end was near. She had health issues; she would not get better. She could not stand. We cradled her and cried and, when she could, she licked our hands and faces. It was torture for us all. We decided to end hers.

The next morning as I first opened the front door she raised her head. I carried her out and lay her on the ground. She held up her muzzle, closed her eyes, and sniffed the wind. She seemed to enjoy the breeze against her face.

An important thing happened shortly thereafter. To set the scene, let me tell you about Stray Cat, an old tom who showed up at our home a year or so ago and has never left. He doesn't like us to touch him, he is easily frightened away, and always disheveled. The funny thing about Stray Cat is that he always shows up when I feel down. I might be on the back deck, sitting and brooding, and when I look over ... there he sits, typically about eight feet away. He just appears and sits, and stares at me. Steady. Grounded. He sits there and we stare at each other, and soon I feel my emotions begin to come into balance. Then he walks away.

Stray Cat bonded with our Great Pyrenees, Tilly. She was about a year old when he appeared, and he tolerated her crazy puppy antics. I often see them doing the ESP stare-down as well. Tilly lays on her haunches, while this cat sits on his in front of her and they just look at one another for ages. When it is chilly, they snuggle. Raleigh did not care for Stray Cat. In fact, they avoided one another completely. But that morning, Raleigh's last, was different. I had come back inside for a cup of coffee and a jacket. When I walked out what I saw was Stray Cat lying beside Raleigh, her head nestled against him.

It has been a few months since Raleigh died. This is the first I could write about it at length. And, of course, I'm bawling like a baby. Hold on while I blow my nose.

. . . . .



That's Ollie on the right!



We struggled with the idea of getting another dog. It felt a bit disloyal. But ... we finally decided to take the plunge. For us, and for Tilly. She was very sad, missing her friend. The rambunctious Tilly who would knock us down in her joy of seeing us had become reserved, detached. We brought her in to sit with us, and she stepped onto the couch and lay her head in our laps and stared up at us. We would explain what happened to Raleigh, and she would blink her eyes and look away, then emit a heavy sigh.

We considered getting a dog from a rescue shelter, but live near folks who often ride horses past our place. You just never know what habits come with a dog who has an established personality. I learned this because I have done the rescued-dog thing before. I loved that dog and we enjoyed many good years together, but I had to be realistic and cautious. And I can't deny I wanted a puppy. I found one, a badger-masked male Pyrenees whom I picked out a few weeks after his birth, and visited until the day we brought him home. Sir Oliver Schnapps. I wanted to call him Ollie, my hubby wanted to call him Schnappy, so the name was a compromise. I believe he is a dog of superior intelligence, as he responds to both monikers. And I'm sure he came with that built-in chip that tells canines how weird we humans are.

At first Tilly was a bit apprehensive, though never rude. She saves that for us. She would sniff Ollie, look at us, give her signature eyebrow wiggle and I think I saw a word cloud above her head that said "What the hell?" Ollie loved her right off, no doubt because she smelled like a mama. We went through the whole establishment routine, keeping our pup inside at night until he was acclimated to his new boundaries. Tilly would hang with him, but didn't seem too interested, but she eventually accepted him into the fold. A couple weeks after Ollie moved in, I noticed Tilly walking the northeast perimeter of our lawn with little Ollie behind her. Every few yards she would stop and bark, then look back at Ollie, who would wag his tail, sniff the ground, then look at his elder for approval. She would turn her majestic head and go another few yards, and repeat the process. She was teaching him! It was fascinating. Not long after he slept outside all night. The next morning I found Ollie nestled within the embrace of Tilly. Awww.

Now he's three months old and has exploded into a small dog. Tilly is close to 120 pounds, and he has some catchin' up to do. He jumps and chews, barks and chews, whines and chews, tackles Tilly and chews. You get the picture. He chews a lot and on anything not nailed down. Who am I kidding? He chews on everything. A few pairs of Old Navy flip flops have recently met their demise. He likes to act like he's the boss and thereby boss Tilly around. She just rolls her eyes. Seriously, she does. But he's still the junior, and when we recently broke out the old John Deer rider to mow the grass for the first time (waaaaay too early), he cowered in puppy fear, down on his belly, appendages sprawled, yelping like a baby. I laughed a bit (I had just found the first pair of mutilated flip flops, so was feeling no mercy), but then Tilly sauntered up and licked him a few times. He was quickly placated, wetly assured, and promptly began digging a huge hole in the yard until I ran yelling at him, brandishing my ravaged shoe. He ran to Tilly for protection, and I swear they both smiled. I stopped in my tracks, was filled with that goofy love-pride you feel toward animals who appear to be doing something important (but are most likely passing gas), dug out my phone and took a pic. It was perfect. It was beautiful. If there had been Great Pyrenees in the Sound of Music movie, a still shot would have looked like this ... you'll love it.

Mon dieu ... it makes your heart explode.

Then they did this ....

Somewhere, I bet Raleigh is laughing. And hopefully ... she approves.

Sweet Expectations

In keeping with the theme of babies, as mentioned in my earlier post, here are some pics of cakes recently made for baby showers. I gifted my niece Shawnee, and niece-in-law Shelby, with the cake(s) for their special day. Small "topper" cakes sat atop cupcake towers.

Considering Corbin

For Shawnee I made layers of chocolate, vanilla, and her favorite, red velvet. All was layer and "dirty" frosted with a cream cheese-enhanced Italian Meringue Buttercream. Everything was nicely sealed under blue fondant with green and purple embellishments. I embossed dots on the cake with the names of our soon-to-be-here baby boy, Corbin, and his parents, James and Shawnee. The "C" was modeled from Rice Crispie treat and turned out a bit wonky, lol. Cupcakes accompanied in flavors to match the little layer cake, topped with the same IMB, and fondant dots.

I might add that today is Shawnee's birthday! I can still remember the first moment I met her ... a face like a baby doll with a rosebud mouth. What a beautiful child and great, soulful kid, and now a remarkable adult. When the Englishman and I were first married he convinced her he was working with James Bond as an undercover agent - 008 - and commissioned her to be a child agent. We even made her a photo ID - in disguise of course, complete with mustache and beard compliments of Adobe Photoshop. I think she believed it for about ... maybe a week. Still she continued on with her agent training, which included martial arts practice in my kitchen. 

Shawnee has been very, very, very ready to give birth for a couple weeks now and she's had a few false starts. We're all waiting patiently, kind of. A week ago she was pretty distraught, uncomfortable, and tired. Now she is resigned to waiting for Corbin's own timing ... and she keeps on smiling (because she has an induce date of Feb. 27 if the little guy forgets to soon check his watch).

Shawnee at her shower. 

She, too, is probably gonna beat me up for this. But she's soooo cute!

Waiting for Shayllen

Unfortunately I don't have a pic of Shelby from her shower. Let it be said she is a tall, gorgeous creature with a mane of beautiful hair, exotic eyes, and a lovely smile. She and nephew Terry are expecting a baby girl .... Shayllen Lee. For the shower I made Neopolitan layers of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry and got to get PINK and girly with the decorating. There were cupcakes in matching flavors, topped with IMB and fondant blossoms. 

Babies!

Oooooh baby baby. Our family has been inundated by the expectation of babies! Both my niece Shawnee and nephew Terry (by way of his girl Shelby, natch) are in the family way. This news was accompanied by much "WHAT?" and "ARE YOU KIDDING?" and "WE'RE GONNA HAVE BABIES!" over the last several months. Seems both my sisters were going to be nanas, and here I am the oldest of the trio and well, it just had not occured in the union of my son Kyle and his uber-awesome wife Jessie.

So at Christmas there was much talk of, "Won't it be sooooo wonderful next holiday season when we have little ones under the tree? And hang their stockings up?" Obviously we will not actually place the wee babes under the tree ... then again, perhaps we will. They would be adorable with the ribbons and sparkles of the season. We can open them by peeling back the receiving blankets and ooh and aah at their blinking, wide eyes and cherub smiles. Revel in their cooing. Giggle at their expressions. Either that or scare them to death. Okay, nix that idea. There will, of course, be the ubiquitous photos of babies with wan expressions or faces of rage sitting in pumpkin seats (are they still called such?) before the tree. Sigh.

I wasn't envious really .. I always expected it would happen when it happened. K and J enjoy their adult life, both with good jobs and an active social life. Then one morning I awake at 6 a.m. to see I have a text from Kyle commanding, "Call me when you wake up." This always promotes panic in me early in the morning or late at night. I stumble out to the living room, sit on the sofa, call his number and get his voicemail. Arg. I call again, and again am greeted by the same.

Panic. Panic. Panic. My fingers are trembling as my phone begins to ring, and I answer with "WHAT?"

"Whatta ya doin'?" sayeth the giant child.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"Gettin' ready for work?" he asks, trying to suppress a yawn.

"WHAT?!"

"Well, you can't say anything yet, but we think Jessie's pregnant."

I sat there and my mind went blank. Then it was full of one million different flashes of baby-related imagery. Jessie pregnant (What will she do with all her cute clothes? I thought this). Kyle helping her waddle to the car. Kyle in the delivery room (he's squeamish, I believe). Then me sewing quilts, me knitting pint-size sweaters, me drawing picture books, me buying a bassinet (I have always wanted to do so), me seeing this child for the first time, me holding it, holding my breath, holding still, holding on. Oh God, can I be a grandparent?

Then in my mind's eye I saw Kyle holding his own child. One he created. A tiny person cradled in his huge hands. Then I said, "Wow."

"Yeah," laughs my tall, beautiful, son. I realize he sounds pretty grown up for a five-year-old, which is how I always see him. Well, perhaps as someone who ate a five-year-old.

Kyle at 5. He's gonna kill me.

"Wow," I say. I say this over and over for probably a minute, while he laughs on the other end. Way over there in Bloomington, Ind. Too far for me to reach him and hug him and cry. I could not fathom another word, yet I could not shut up. Wowowowowowowowowowowowowowowow.

There is a welling up inside of me. A feeling I cannot even describe. I always wondered how I would feel when I received such news. It is beyond happiness, or pride, or ... anything I have known. I didn't trust my wobbly throat, but asked ... "So, how do you feel?"

"Well, I'm happy of course. But I'm scared to death." Another laugh. I can hear his smile.

Apparently the discovery was the result of casual conversation. The whole monthly cycle comment. Probably some goober guy comment by either Kyle or his friend Ryan, who is staying with them for a while. There is a realization she is "late." There is a trip to buy a test. There is a taking of said test. There is a positive reading of test. Kyle and buddy go on trip to buy another test. And so the story goes.

However, she is unable to have a visit with a baby-coming doc and all-revealing ultrasound for three weeks and one day.

I am told I am not allowed to say anything to the family. Are you kidding? So every time I visit my family I must pretend I do not know. When Shawnee has her baby shower, and me, my mother, my sisters, and Shawnee all go afterward to the Wal-Mart (because that's what you do after any big event in a small town) and they all begin goo-gooing over baby stuff and talk about how it's too bad there won't be three stockings for babies next Christmas, I just smile. Smile, smile, smile. Smile so hard my head is pounding. This, of course, reminds me that I am to get my blood pressure pills while there. That was a bonus. "I gotta go," I announce suddenly and sprint to the pharmacy.

I imagine the day of the big reveal. I am sitting outside at my imaginary lawn table, pouring lemonade into glasses for my sisters and mother, who are perspiring politely in their lovely lawn attire during the imaginary summer that will not be here for months because it is how I WANT this to happen. Actually the whole fantasy is just that ... a fantasy. I don't have such a table, one sister only drinks RC and the other Mt. Dew. They do not perspire politely, they sweat and complain about how hot it is. We all do. And we will all have on some kind of shorts and sleeveless shirts, sitting on the deck, shooing away the cats so their fur doesn't stick to us and ... complaining about how hot it is.

But in my fantasy, as I pour the last glass, - for sister Kayla, who is wearing a darling lilac sleeveless sheath - someone will pick up a napkin to wipe their also-perspiring glass and say, "Why, there is a beautiful, cross-stitched baby stocking under the napkins!" They will all coo "My, my" and admire my handiwork. They will wonder which baby it is for, the niece or nephew? "Oh no," I will say demurely. "It is for MY grandbaby. Jessie is pregnant!" Everyone will squeal with joy. The sun will send a special shaft of sunlight onto my beaming face, bluebirds will encircle our gathering, and angels will sing somewhere down in the Wynoose Bottoms (the acoustics are great). Of course, this scenario would mean the child would be expected in only a month or so - due date is the end of August! But, again ... my fantasy.

Back to reality. Finally, the morning arrives. I am the first at work and am sitting at my desk when a text arrives. It is a photo of a blurry, white blob tethered in black space. There are blurry words that read "Baby!" also floating in black space. It doesn't look like a baby, it looks like a lima bean. It is the most beautiful picture I have ever seen.

Everyone got the news that day. Not really sure how.

My grand-lima bean. Sigh. I am going to call him/her my Little Sprout. I can't wait to develop my green thumb.